


Tripping Eyes and Flooded Lungs

by orphan_account



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Drunkenness, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Dan Howell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8677684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "He says, “asshole,” under his breath, but the smirk and the blush creeping further on his cheeks expose the fact that he definitely doesn’t think Phil is an asshole. Or, he doesn’t think Phil is as much of an asshole as he previously did that.It’s the latter, he thinks, and he’s okay with that."





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted to say like, a massive thank you to my friends [charlie](http://4amphil.tumblr.com/) and [vicky](http://darklight-phan.tumblr.com/) for working with me on this fic!! it's been a huge labor and love and the encouragement and general help that they gave really made this process go so much more smoothly than i could have ever hoped for!!  
> warnings for: cursing, alcohol/drunkeness/underage drinking, vomit (mention), general fighting between dnp

Nighttime had always been of particular interest to Dan, even in his childhood. When he was younger, he’d often begged his parents to let him stay up far beyond an average child’s bedtime, hoping to catch a glimpse of the moon and the stars shining in the sky.

He and his friends had spent many nights comforted by cool breezes and black skies, laughing under dim streetlights and returning home only to irritated parents in the early hours of the morning. 

It had taken him so long to finally find where he belonged, but with all of his friends here, he truly felt the best he had in a long time. At the current moment in time, he found himself laying across the bottom of his friend Knox’s bed, letting out a defeated sigh. He’d spent the night over, eventually only intending on coming for a couple hours. However, by the time he’d planned to head home, it was so late that they both figured he might as well stay.

“We’re thinking,” his friend begins, sitting up against his headboard, “we wanna go into town tomorrow, if you’re down. Phil wants to show us this shop he found, you know.”

Suppressing an inward groan, Dan shrugs and offers a quiet “yeah, maybe.” 

Realistically, they both know that Dan isn’t going to come along. He prefers not to make waves, and Phil makes that so fucking hard. Whether he came into their lives already having it out for Dan, or whether that developed over time, Dan doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. He isn’t generally one to make issues, but Phil just has this nature about him, this ‘I’m better than you’ attitude that Dan can’t stand, even if he seemed to be the only one that felt that way.

He was arrogant and loud and outgoing, he didn’t take anything seriously and he’d always talk over Dan and he-

“Dan?” Knox asks, laughing slightly. “Did you just hear a word I said?”

Dan, after a brief moment of contemplation, shakes his head. He’s lost in his own thoughts, something that did seem to happen more often than not.

“I was saying, maybe it would be good if you came! You’d love it. We could stop at Siren and see if they’ve got any new CD’s in, or the art store, or something!” he says rather enthusiastically. It’s not that Dan minds going into town (he doesn’t, really), but going into town with  _ Phil.  _ Phil who had ruined their friend group of seven, Phil who can’t stand Dan, who can’t stand him right back. Phil, who everybody just adores.

“Maybe,” Dan repeats, met with a sigh of defeat. “I’ll think about it. Can we get something to eat, though? I’m starving.” 

The two sit at the table, mostly silent thanks to their half awake nature, until Knox seems to decide that he’s had enough of that.

“You should give him a chance, at the very least,” he presses, looking up from the steaming mug of tea in front of him.

“Why?” Dan asks incredulously. “In what universe would that be a good idea?”

“This one!” his friend answers, not missing a beat. “Look, I’m not saying you have to love him or anything of the sort, but just come into town with us, okay? I’ll be there, and so will Lucy and Nora, and you  _ know  _ if Nora comes that means Owen will tag along as well. You could ignore him, practically,” he persists, eyes wide.

Ignoring sounds tempting, Dan decides. He’ll join. He won’t enjoy it but he’ll come along, if only so that next time they ask him to tag along with  _ Phil _ , he could use the excuse that he’d come last time. It won’t be terrible, he decides. He can handle going into town for the day, even if he certainly won’t enjoy himself as much as he might if Phil didn’t tag along.

“I’ll go,” he decides, quickly popping a piece of strawberry into his mouth. 

Knox grins, quite pleased with this development. As much as Dan isn’t looking forward to spending an entire day with Phil, his friends will be happy, and that’s mostly what mattered.

“You won’t regret it, promise,” his friend adds, cut off by a yawn.

* * *

“Nora!” Dan says sharply, watching as his friend slides into the last empty seat of the booth, leaving only one spot open.

Of course, of  _ course _ , he thinks to himself, they make him sit by Phil. He’s not even doing anything of particular interest to Dan, but he gives a sly smile and asks “what’s wrong with this seat?”

If he were anyone else, Dan might shoot back with his own remark, but since he’s not, he just offers a shrug and slides into the booth beside Phil, just reminding himself that there were plenty of people here and plenty of chances for him to ignore the older boy.

So, he’ll do just that, he decides. He won’t spare Phil even a second glance. There are plenty of other people here with which to concern himself; people actually worthy of his time.

Phil must be envious, or something like that. That’s Dan’s theory. Phil envies that Dan had such a tight knit friend group, some of them going all the way back to primary school. He didn’t have that when he came to school, and instead of making his own way and finding other friends, he interjected himself so deeply into their friend group.

Dan had to give him some sort of props, because the way he came into their friend group was so carefully thought out, almost methodical, even. First, he started talking to Nora, and gradually he started showing up to talk to them at the lockers in the mornings. It seemed he hadn’t liked Dan from the beginning, and Dan had quickly returned the feeling.

All throughout lunch, he’s practically so busy chatting to Owen across the table that he hardly even touches his own lunch, but he doesn’t mind whatsoever. It’s going so well, so absolutely well. Phil’s wrapped up in some absent minded conversation and Dan couldn’t care less. He may as well be invisible.

Except, the thing is, he’s not invisible. He’s there and Dan’s brought sharply back to reality when Phil waves his hand excitedly, consequently spilling his milkshake. 

“ _ Of course, _ ” Dan snaps bitterly, standing up from the table. The thick drink has spilled all down his front and his pants, and his feeble attempts to clean it with a napkin do little good to remedy the situation.

It’s too fucking convenient. Phil just happened to have a nearly full milkshake and he just happened to spill it perfectly - so that it spilled all over Dan, sparing any of their other friends. The way he shrugs, not appearing even remotely sorry only further convinces Dan that this was absolutely on purpose. He doesn’t even apologise, just resumes his conversation, slightly annoyed that he had to stop in the middle of it; nevermind that Dan’s stuck in cold, wet pants, but God forbid  _ Phil  _ was inconvenienced.

“C’mon, Dan,” Owen sighs. “You and I both know that was an accident. You saw it yourself!”

It’s not a far stretch that someone could accidentally spill a drink, but it’s the fact that Phil seems to have so many accidents, and they all seem to involve Dan.

“Right,” he agrees. “Phil would never do anything rude, would he? He’d never want to annoy me!” He usually finds himself above picking fights, but today seems to be the exception.

“That’s all. He wouldn't, not on purpose!” Owen agrees, either not picking up on or ignoring Dan’s sarcastic tone entirely.

Maybe Phil had a change of heart or maybe he’s trying to spite Dan, but he does soon after stand up, napkins in hand, to head towards Dan. 

“I’m  _ so  _ sorry,” he practically croons, quick to try and sop up the sugary, wet mess on Dan’s lap. “Guess I’m just so clumsy, aren’t I?”

“Clumsy,” Dan repeats through gritted teeth. Never towards Owen, or Nora, or any of their other friends, but always towards Dan. Never enough for anyone else to recognize that he’s absolutely, definitely doing this on purpose, but certainly enough for Dan to know.

Rolling his eyes, Dan decides he’ll sooner take care of it himself and heads towards the bathroom, blood practically boiling as he hears Phil laughing with their friends.

Dan had never done anything to him, never wronged him to the best of his knowledge, never done anything to make Phil act like this, but if he wants some sort of war, then Dan can give it to him. It’s not that he ever looks for fights, but sometimes, it can’t be helped.

After cleaning himself up the best he could, wordlessly attempting to wipe down his pants, Dan makes his way back to the table that he and his friends are occupying, swiping a fry out of Phil’s basket.

“I’d dip this in my milkshake, but we know that isn’t exactly possible,” he quips. He isn’t even hungry, but he’d do anything to spite the older boy.

* * *

 

“Do you mind?” Dan finally snaps, turning to face the boy behind him. After he’s stepped on the back of Dan’s shoe for what had to be the fifth or sixth time, he’s had enough.

“Suppose I’m just a bit bored, being trapped in an art store I don’t want to be in.”

Dan is tempted to shoot back something witty, something about how he doesn’t want Phil to be here in the first place, but makes the quick decision that it simply isn’t worth it to pick the fight. Perhaps, he could take the same high road Phil had taken that morning when he’d made such a show of cleaning up after himself.

So he does that, in his own way: he takes his time.

He stands, looking carefully through each and every single sketchbook, feeling the weight and thickness of all the paper before deciding he won’t buy one, after all.

“Maybe I’ll look at paint, provided Phil doesn’t mind,” he says sweetly, giving the other boy a pointed glare.

“Certainly not,” agrees Phil, though his gritted teeth suggest otherwise.

He can feel Phil growing more and more irritated the longer he takes, and though it very well may be childish, he can’t help the satisfaction he feels somewhere deep inside of him, knowing how infuriating this is for Phil, who huffs behind him.

“Must be annoying.” It’s hardly loud enough for Phil to hear the statement, but he does, Dan can tell. “But we all have our downfalls: you’re clumsy, and I can’t make up my mind,” he tuts, moving on to the next section.

“I’m trying to find just the right shade of blue,” he explains. “But I can be quite particular, so we might be awhile. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind, though.”

Frankly, he doesn’t need any paint, and it’s not like he’s got much extra money, but twenty five minutes later he walks out clutching a small bag with two new tubes of blue paint, feeling like he has a leg up on Phil, who seems so excited to finally be out of the art store.

Dan would feel bad if it were anyone but Phil, but after the day he’s given Dan, any traces of sympathy that may have existed have vanished.

“Dan, c’mon,” someone coaxes, leading him towards the front of the group. Much to his relief, Phil hangs back with some of the others; they could both certainly use the time to cool down slightly.

“I don’t think you two could be any more oblivious,” Nora says, shaking her head.

Dan raises an eyebrow accusingly, almost immediately asking, “what do you mean by that?” They both knew, of course, but she just laughs, shaking her head.

“You two properly fancy each other. Come  _ on _ , you-”

She is quickly cut off with a sharp laugh on Dan’s part, and a promise that he and Phil certainly do not fancy one and other. After all, that isn’t the way to treat someone you’d like to date, though he’d readily admit he wasn’t the kindest to Phil either.

“We don’t,” he insists.

“Sure, you don’t.”

“We  _ don’t _ !”

“I know, you don’t,” she teases, one corner of her mouth pulling up into a smirk.”You told me, so it must be true.” She pauses, shares a knowing glance with Lucy, who looks back, pushing a stray blue hair away from her eyes.

“Aw, leave him be,” she drawls. “You’re embarrassing him, ‘Nor.” She’s sweet, a couple months older than Dan, but she’s always been more cautious than the rest of them. Lucy’s lovely to be around, has quite the gentle nature about her, and has been the one to resolve more than one dispute among the friends.

She’s Dan’s saving grace for the time being, pulls him over to other side of the pavement, smiling up at him.

“You know how Nora gets,” she says apologetically, but Dan doesn’t really mind. They all tease, even if what they’re teasing about is most decidedly, absolutely not true.

“I know, it’s just teasing. I’m grown, can hold my own.”

“You can,” she agrees. “But it doesn’t hurt.”

She’s right, as she usually is. Frankly, he already feels a lot better in her company, knowing she, unlike the rest of them, won’t tease about Phil.

All things considered, it hasn’t been too bad of a day; Dan’s actually quite content, now that he’s caught up in conversation with Lucy rather than Phil.

He sometimes forgets how much he appreciates having her around and makes a mental note to let her know sometime as they’re all gearing up to say goodbye. They’ve congregated outside of some coffeeshop, blatantly ignoring the ‘No Loitering’ sign plastered on the wall, though no one minds. Some drive, one walks, and eventually, by the time Dan’s mum comes to pick him up, the teenager is beyond ready to be heading home. He’s well starving and misses his bed something awful, eager to collapse into it.It’s only after he’s wolfed down dinner, mustered some excuse of “we walked around all day, I’m more tired than I’ve  _ ever  _ been, mum,” that he’s excused to bed, clambering up the stairs and letting the door close behind him.

* * *

 

He is exhausted that day and the next, but pushes himself through two days of the school week, though he didn’t feel present, exactly.

The thought of his science teacher’s voice, a constant reminder of their upcoming partner project nags in the back of his mind, a constant ache, but she hasn’t paired them up on Monday or Tuesday, much to Dan’s relief.

He has all intentions of attending school on Wednesday, begrudgingly, but he’s woken up with a throat just red enough and a forehead just warm enough to worry his mum enough to let him stay home from school while she went off to work and sent his younger brother off. He doesn’t plan out his day, not like he would in school, and sleeps in until half past noon, only then waking because of the sun shining into his eyes.

He wakes with a groan, forces himself out of bed and into the shower, though he waits outside until the water runs lukewarm. All in all, the water runs for what he guesses to be 30 minutes, though he spends no more than five cleaning himself up before he’s had enough and turns the water off, resigning to find something for breakfast.

The quiet of the house is, of course, a welcome change; he loves school, loves his friends so very much, but sometimes a break is well needed.

He basks in the quiet, doesn’t get much done, but relaxes more than he has in an incredibly long time, and when the clock reads 3:22, his phone alerts him to a text from Lucy, saying she’s coming over after school to drop off some assignment and that she hopes he feels much better. He’d say no, normally, but she’s sweet enough and he doesn’t have the time to get behind in his coursework, and certainly not in his last year of school.

He texts her that ‘door’s unlocked, that’s fine’ and turns on the next episode of Buffy, though he can’t say he’s paying much attention at all. It’s mostly background noise to him, though there’s soon a knock at his door accompanied by a call of “hey, Dan, it’s Lucy. You in the lounge?”

He’s not dressed up by any means but he’s dressed enough, in joggers and a baggy shirt, and he goes to meet her in the hallway, quick to thank her for dropping off his assignments, though he’s glad it doesn’t look like too much work.

She’s just turning to go when a thought seems to come to her, and she turns to face Dan. “Knew I was forgetting something,” she laughs. “Miss Nelson assigned partners today, finally.”

Unlike the rest of the homework, Dan actually takes interest in this, one eyebrow raised. He groans outwardly, noting that her expression doesn’t look promising. 

“Don’t tell me I got stuck with like, Jonah or Evan or one of them, please.”

“Well, no, neither of them,” she says, almost apologetically.

He’s relieved, really, until she speaks again.

“You got Phil,” she says, nodding before jumping right back into conversation. “I know you don’t have his number, and he certainly doesn’t have yours, so I could give you his, or him yours,” she offers, looking up over the thick black frame of her glasses.

“I- yeah, I guess give him mine?” Dan says, shaking his head. “Not like, today or anything, but if I’m in school tomorrow, I guess?”

She nods, pushes a stray hair away from her face, and leaves after a quick hug and the promise that everything will work out. It absolutely has to, she promises. (Dan remains unconvinced, but he doesn’t bother saying that.)

 

* * *

“I  _ can’t  _ work with him,” Dan sighs, desperate. “We don’t work well together, and our schedules are hard to fit together.” That part isn’t true, exactly, but he can bend the truth slightly to fit his needs.

“I’ve explained prior to pairing that all student groups are final” his teacher warns, giving him a pointed gaze. “I often let my students pick partners, but it’s important to step out of your comfort zone every now and again. I understand you may not have picked to work with him on your own, and I’m sorry you aren’t happy with my choice, but decisions are final.”

“We’re both so busy, though,” he persists, desperately trying to find an alternative. “Our schedules don’t line up, so we can’t-”

“Daniel!” his teacher interjects, clearly growing weary, “decisions are final. End of story. There will be time during school hours to work on this project, though you both have plenty of weekend time to get together.”

Dan’s tempted to ask once more, but she reiterates that she won’t be changing her mind, regardless of if he and Phil want to work together, and while he’s not happy he certainly doesn’t want to be in trouble.

“Yeah. Right, thank you anyway,” he sighs finally, ignoring most of her statement. He’s not going to get his way, which is apparent to him, but he  _ does  _ sincerely hope that he can get Phil to do at least a portion of the work, unlikely as it may seem.

“You’re not going to get anywhere with her,” Phil says out of nowhere; Dan hadn’t even been aware that he was near, which he can’t help but find slightly unsettling. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“I’m not trying anything, Phil,” Dan says pointedly. “Maybe I needed to clarify something about the assignment, did you consider that?” 

“Right. You weren’t trying to get a new partner, the grass isn’t green, the sky isn’t blue,” Phil says, grinning like he knows something Dan doesn’t.

Dan doesn’t even bother trying to come back, just says, “we need to come up with a time to meet up and figure out the project.”

Phil couldn’t look more disinterested, and frankly, Dan’s eager for the conversation to be over. “You won’t want to come to mine. It’s either yours or the library,” Dan says finally.

“Why not yours?” Phil presses. Dan wishes he hadn’t said a thing.

“Because I said we’re not going to mine. Are we going to yours or the library?”

“Mine’s fine, mum works late anyway.”

“Friday?” Dan asks, never looking up from his feet.

“Friday’s fine, I think. Until dinner?”

Dan nods, quickly cutting over to the left, leaves Phil behind in the crowd. He’ll figure out the project, but he’s not going to talk to Phil more than he needs to, and the fact that Phil asked why they couldn’t go to his leaves him much less than comfortable.

It’s not even a big deal, that’s what he tells himself as he closes his locker. They can go to Phil’s house, and as long as Phil does his share of the work, he won’t make an issue out of it.

If Dan has his way, things will go perfectly according to plan; they’ll just do the project, be civil, and get it over with, though Phil has quite the tendency to over complicate things, so he remains unconvinced that this project will be anything short of a disaster.

* * *

 

Dan’s never expected, in any of his seventeen years, to be in Phil’s car, but it had just made sense for them to go to Phil’s together. He’s been dreading it the entire week, practically begged his mum to let him stay home to no avail, and eventually relented. After ten minutes, three and a half songs, and no words between the two of them, they pull into Phil’s driveway.

His house isn’t big but it’s bigger than Dan’s, a few potted plants arranged on the terrace, and the older of the two fumbles around in his pocket for the key before letting them into the main hallway.

“Lounge’s off to the left, kitchen to the right. Make yourself comfortable or something like that,” Phil says, dropping his bag before heading up the stairs.

Someone, presumably Phil’s mum, has framed photos lining the walls. Photos range from weddings to childhood photos, and what Dan presumes to be a recent photo. Phil and his brother, Dan guesses, stand with who must be their mum and dad, and for a moment Dan can practically feel his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach.

He’s taken from his thoughts, though, when Phil returns and asks “didn’t I tell you make yourself comfortable?” 

He pauses, looks back up at Dan for a moment, and sighs. “Mum gets back at eight. She might have left dinner, but I won’t put up a fight if you want to eat at home, and since you won’t decide, we can work in the lounge.”

Dan’s admittedly a bit taken aback, but steps into the lounge anyway, his backpack hanging off one shoulder. 

“I’ll probably go home for dinner,” he agrees. If he leaves at seven, that gives them four hours to work on their project - they won’t finish but they’ll make a sizeable dent on it. Maybe it’ll be enough so that he won’t have to come back again, which he doesn’t particularly care to do.

“So,” Dan begins, carefully removing the assignment sheet from his binder, “I’ve written up a little bit about this project already, but I thought maybe you’d have something to contribute, so I didn’t want to do too much without you.”

“You could have,” Phil says, shrugging. 

“Excuse me?”

“Done more, I mean. Group projects aren’t really my thing.” He leans back into the pillows, not even giving a second glance in Dan’s direction.

Dan sighs and shakes his head, trying to gather his thoughts. “I don’t think they’re anyone’s thing, really,” he says. “However, having a passing grade  _ is  _ my thing, so I’d really appreciate if you could help, at least somewhat.”

“Does that mean you can’t do it without me?” Phil asks. He’s looked up, a smirk crossing his face. “Do you need my help that bad?”

Dan crosses his arms, offering a quick and defensive “no.” He pauses, hesitates a moment before adding, “but I thought that maybe challenging yourself would be beneficial.”

Phil scoffs but seems satisfied that he’s flustered Dan if only slightly.

Dan, of course, tries not to let it show too much. He quickly recollects his thoughts, setting his textbook out on his lap.

“The project-” he begins once more, though Phil’s excused himself.

“Music!” he calls from the kitchen, returning with a small, yet surprisingly loud speaker. Dan can’t place the band, nor could he place any of the bands playing in Phil’s car, but they all sound roughly the same. Now that it crosses his mind again, he’s not even sure it was more than one band.

“Music aside,” Dan continues, plastering on a fake smile, “we need to get a start on this project. I know you don’t like group projects and I know you don’t like me, but we’re going to have to just deal with it for the time being.”

“You don’t have to act like I’m stupid,” says Phil, never looking up from his phone. “I don’t want to do the project, doesn’t mean I don’t know how. We’re both grown up boys, so it can’t be too hard.”

Dan hesitates, says a rather quiet “I’m not-” but drops it a moment later, thankful when it goes undetected by Phil.

He stills, clears his throat, waits a moment until Phil looks towards him. He’ll just get straight into it, won’t even give Phil a choice but to listen.

“Now, since you’ve always got something to say, I thought you’d be more comfortable with the presentation. I know I’d prefer to be in charge of putting it together.” Maybe it’s a bit immature of him, but it feels good to make a subtle dig at Phil, even if the older boy is unphased.

He doesn’t speak back but nods anyway, so Dan takes it as a yes.

“So that means you’ll be doing the bulk of the essay. I’d be more than happy to help with the outline or developing a thesis, whatever you need to make it work.” As much as he dislikes Phil, he cares more about getting a good grade, and he’s willing to put their differences aside in order to achieve that. He just hopes Phil will be, too.

Once he’s delegated tasks, they both set to work in silence. He can’t stand Phil’s music but reminds himself that he is at Phil’s, after all, so it isn’t really up to him. He sets to work mapping out individual slides of their presentation, textbook spread out next to him.

Phil’s curled on the couch with his laptop, facing Dan but never looking at him. Every so often, Dan becomes hyper aware of the tapping of his fingers at the keyboard, though it’s a comfort to know that means he’s actually working on their project.

All in all, at the end of the four hours, Dan’s quite proud of himself. He hasn’t gotten as far as he might have wanted to, but he’s worked diligently on what he  _ has  _ been able to complete, completely confident that whatever he’s produced is well thought out and fact-checked twice over, just in case he happened to slip up.

He’ll go over it again of course, but for the beginnings of his half of the project, Dan couldn’t be more pleased. He asks to see what Phil’s done, proudly shows off his own work, but Phil closes his laptop in response, just says it was about to die anyway.

Dan’s not pleased but gives Phil the benefit of the doubt. He’s eager to head home anyway. He’s still half sick from his flu, and that coupled with the mile walk home has him exhausted by the time he arrives to his front door.

His mum’s not home and he can’t say that bothers him terribly. After some searching he comes across a half full box of Chinese takeaway, carrying that and his backpack up to his bedroom. There’s at least a fifty percent chance he’ll fall asleep in the middle of eating, despite the fact that it’s hardly even past 8:00.

He makes it through, finishes his dinner in what has to be some sort of personal record, and forces himself downstairs to discard the container, letting himself flop back onto the mattress. He doesn’t even change out into pajamas, hardly even has time to recall the day’s events before he slips into sleep, readily leaving behind all of the day’s stresses.

* * *

 

“I want to see your progress,” Dan insists, growing irritated.

Phil holds his laptop defensively out of Dan’s reach, sat on the opposite side of the couch. “It’ll be done,” he says, shrugging. “That’s the best you’ll get.”

Dan scoffs, reaches for the laptop, though it’s quickly moved once again. “This would be easier if you weren’t so full of yourself,” he says finally, leaning back into the sofa.

“It would be easier if you weren’t so controlling,” Phil shoots back. His eyes roll about as far as they can go; he’s clearly displaying his annoyance towards Dan.

The two are polar opposites, and this only becomes more clear as they spend time together. The first time had been okay, but Dan isn’t convinced Phil’s done any work and the fact that he won’t show it isn’t exactly promising.

“If you’ve done work, then what’s your issue with showing me?” he snaps, growing incredibly impatient. Every argument he and Phil have takes away from time he needs to spend on his half.

“You’re too-” Phil breaks off, waving his free hand in a loose gesture that Dan can’t comprehend, “too ambitious. Too focused on other people, far too controlling. If you just  _ relaxed,  _ you would be a much better partner.”

That’s the final straw for Dan, who feels anger hot and red and boiling in his chest. “If I’m such a terrible partner, maybe I’ll do the project myself!” he retaliates, just feeling completely and utterly done with Phil.

It’s stupid of him to suggest in hindsight, but he’s seeing it all in the moment; sees the way Phil nods, coyly says “fine, do the project yourself. I’m sure it’ll be just perfect, just like you.” There’s no kindness to his words - anyone would be able to tell that the compliment was the furthest thing from genuine, but Dan’s far too gone to backtrack, so he breathes in hard, tries to make himself seem confident.

“I’ll do ten times the project you ever could.” It’s a promise; nothing more, nothing less. He’s smart, of course, bound to do well on the project nonetheless, but the added motivator of wanting to outdo Phil is going to push him into something  _ great. _

Something like that, he tells himself.

_ Something great  _ isn’t tears welling up in your eyes two days before the project deadline. _ Something great  _ isn’t a panicked phone call to Lucy,  _ something great  _ isn’t exactly the reality of the situation.

“I’m like, so in over my head,” he says, voice wobbling somewhere between strong and the edge of breaking. His legs, as wobbly as they feel, carry him back and forth across the hard wood floors of his bedroom. “I don’t know what I was thinking, ‘Luce.”

She does her best at comforting him, offers resources she’s used in her own project, tries (with mild success) to remind him that his grades are stellar; one mediocre one isn’t going to be the end of that.

It’s not that she doesn’t help, because she’s so kind and so gentle and so warm that even just talking to her calms Dan, slows the anxiety coursing through his veins, but rather that Dan can’t forgive himself for being so stubborn. Phil, he’s decided, brings out the worst in him and he’s just a few seconds away from swearing the older boy off completely when his phone rings.

Phil.

He contemplates not answering, and, though it’s insignificant, he decides to let it ring a bit longer, only picking up as it’s about to go over to voicemail.

“Hey, uh, Dan? Phil, y’know.”

It isn’t like Dan didn’t know who was calling, but he’s still not interested. He confirms, “yes, Dan,” but nothing else, letting Phil do the talking.

“Look, Lucy called-” he breaks off, almost like he’s thinking, hesitating. “She like, she told me you were upset, I guess, and-”

“I wasn’t  _ upset, _ ” Dan lies.

“You’re a bad liar.”

“I’m not lying!” He is.

“Right, sure. Grass isn’t green, et cetera. That’s not why I’m calling, though.”

He’s met with silence, leads into his next sentence: “So like, I’m gonna try to do at least part of my half, you know? Like, just let me know.”

Normally, Dan might have replied with a snarky comment, but there was no edge to be found. There is, to the best of his knowledge, no malicious intent behind Phil’s words. Dare he say Phil felt genuinely guilty over leaving Dan with all of the work.

“You’re-” Dan stammers, “like, actually going to?”

Phil agrees, even invites Dan to meet in the library before classes to finalize everything. Once Dan’s explained what needs to be done, he’s struck with the realization that Phil’s going to be working well into the night on their joint project.

He’d feel bad under most other circumstances; all nighters are never a good idea and doing projects this last minute are always miserable, but he can’t do it himself. He’s in no position to decline the help, and he doesn’t recall a time Phil’s ever been able to put his own feelings aside. So he’s absolutely taking him up on the offer.

He works into the night, crawling beneath the warmth of his duvet only at 2:30. His eyes close almost as soon as his head hits the pillow and the line between awake and asleep blurs.

He’s exhausted the next morning, comes into school with two travel mugs of coffee and sheepishly offers Phil one. It’s the least he can do, because Phil looks like he’s about to collapse. The bags under his eyes are puffy, concealed if only slightly by his glasses, and he hardly stifles a yawn as Dan hands him the warm mug, graciously taking a sip.

“How late were you..?” Dan trails off, feeling slightly guilty.

“I slept an hour and a half in the middle of the night. Had mum wake me up before she went to work so I could finish,” he explains, voice muffled by the mug in front of his face.

He offers a flash drive, promises that he’s done the best job he can considering the time restraint. He doesn’t apologize for starting all this but Dan doesn’t expect that of him anyway, so they’re about even.

Dan opens his mouth, something poised at the tip of his tongue, but shuts it instead, pocketing the flash drive. Just twelve hours ago, he didn’t see how the project could possibly finished, but it had somehow come together.

Partially, it was because of Dan: he’d done a large part of it, and he’d talked to Lucy when it was too much to handle. It was also partially because of Lucy, who had talked to Phil for Dan and gotten them on the right track, and partially because of Phil, who had finally been able to put his feelings aside and finish out his part.

They wouldn’t have been able to finish it without one and other, and despite the animosity he harbors towards Phil to a certain degree, he’s really thankful.

“It’s good to know you’re not always an asshole,” he finally teases, though he’s not putting much emotion behind it.

“Just most of the time,” Phil says.

“Everyone has their moments,” Dan agrees. He’s absolutely, most definitely not ready to be Phil’s best friend, but seeing what he did for Dan makes him incredibly thankful if nothing else.

Phil doesn’t respond after that, lets his eyes close as he leans against the stone walls of the library. It’s dead silent, save for the light breathing Dan can hear if he’s just silent enough. Phil’s not asleep but he might be if he was sitting, his eyes closed for just too long before they open again.

He looks sheepish and Dan’s not sure how he’s going to make it through the day, but their presentation is only the second class of the day, so the coffee Dan provided for him should be able to give him the boost he needs to get through that, at least.

Dan can feel something building in his chest, not quite guilt but very close to it. Phil stayed up because of  _ him.  _ He’s exhausted because of  _ him.  _ He’s having a hard time being anything but thankful to his classmate.

The bell rings, alerting them to the fact that they’ve got five minutes to get to class - Dan to french and Phil to science, but they both remain unmoving.

It’s Phil who breaks the silence first. He says “I’m too tired for science.”

Dan doesn’t blame him, but he absolutely does need to get to class. French isn’t his strongest subject so he really needs to work on it.

“Maybe you can sleep in the library,” he offers quietly. There’s a corner with fairly comfortable chairs; Dan has spent hours upon hours studying in them and he’s most certainly dozed off a handful of times. “I can like, go to the bathroom early from French and wake you up?” 

Phil hesitates, but he’s not in any position to decline the offer and saunters off towards the chairs. The librarian is off doing something or other, so she isn’t much of a concern, and soon Dan’s off to French.

He’s late by three minutes, gives an apologetic “je suis désolé pour ma lenteur,” and sinks into his seat, exhausted already as his teacher drones on about irregular conjugations. He’s looked over this lesson already and frankly, he doesn’t want to learn this, but he makes half an attempt at paying attention, even answers two questions.

His head isn’t there, though. He keeps glancing at the clock until there’s four minutes until class is over. Cautiously, he raises his hands, asking “puis-je aller  à la salle de bains?” His teacher isn’t pleased by any means but lets him off to the bathroom with a stern glance. He collects his bag once her back is turned, quick to sneak out into the eerily silent hallways.

He makes it to the library with hardly any time to spare, Phil sleeping just where he’d been when Dan left for class. He wakes almost suddenly when Dan’s there, looking, at best, marginally exhausted.

“We have to go,” he coaxes, grabbing Phil’s bag from the floor. He looks tired, almost vulnerable, and Dan feels for him, just for a moment.

“We’ve got to go,” he repeats, heading out the door. Phil follows, just as Dan knew he would, and they make it into the classroom with just a few moments to spare. He’d be a liar if he said he felt totally confident in their presentation -- almost half was done last night -- but it’s all they’ve got.

As it turns out, Dan’s spared a large part of the anxiety: their teacher draws popsicle sticks and they’re chosen to show second. It’s not perfect, not by any means, but it’s passable,  which is more than Dan expected. He didn’t need a stellar grade, anyway; he’s got an impressive record as is.

He thinks that maybe after all, Phil isn’t quite as bad as Dan had made him out to be; he’s a bit callous, perhaps, but after what he did for Dan, it’s a bit easier for the younger of the two to admit he’s got some redeeming qualities amongst the flaws.

 

* * *

Nora’s got this look about her, something Dan can’t put his finger on. It’s almost as if she knows something he doesn’t, but she’s never been the scheming thing, so Dan highly doubts it’s anything of significance. She never brings it up, so he doesn’t either.

He doesn’t even give it much of a second thought, even, until it’s lunch time. She and Lucy whisper amongst themselves, occasionally glancing up at Dan. He tries his best to ignore it, despite the growing unease he feels -- he’s sure it’s nothing, absolutely, but he can’t help feeling some anxiety over their actions.

He loves spending time with them, and he thinks they like to be around him as well, but it’s all a bit too much and he suddenly asks: “what is  _ up  _ with you two?”

Lucy looks up, wide eyed, before letting out a loud giggle.

“Oh,” she remarks, waving her hand a bit, “Nora and I were just talking about this weekend.”

“Owen’s parents aren’t in town,” Nora elaborates, grinning. “So we were thinking that we might have a house party-”

“What do you think?” Lucy asks excitedly, gazing at him with an earnest expression.

Dan hesitates. After their project, things had mostly gone back to the same with Phil, and he’s never been one for parties in the past.

“C’mon, Dan,” they coax in unison, looking disappointed, almost.

“Phil won’t be there!” Nora says, casting an upward glance.

He sighs, relenting and asking for the details. He’ll have more than enough space to move around, won’t need to be in any sort of situation he doesn’t want. Maybe, he thinks, since Phil won’t even go, he could have a perfectly lovely time. Most of all, the voice in the back of his head reminds him that they’ll all be off to uni soon; he’ll regret not seeing them if he doesn’t go.

* * *

 

Time passes as usual (it crawls while at Dan’s at school, like always), and soon enough he’s at Owen’s where, admittedly, he hasn’t been in some time. It’s not that he’s avoided it, it’s just that  _ fucking Phil _ has always been over, and Dan’s never wanted to deal with that.

That’s not a concern today, though; they’ll have a perfectly good night. He’s informed his mum previously that he’s staying at Owen’s, and she likes him enough to trust that Dan will be fine, so there’s no reason he shouldn’t enjoy himself.

Owen’s older brother even bought them alcohol -- boxed wine, a bottle or two of blueberry vodka, along with whatever Owen has managed to sneak from his parents -- and though drinking isn’t something Dan partakes in often, he’ll do so once in a blue moon.

That’s why when Nora hurriedly pushes a vodka cranberry into his hand, he doesn’t resist, just takes it easily and gulps down a sip. He cringes inwardly at the taste, but the first sip is always the worst, and the cranberry juice weakens the taste if only slightly.

It’s been awhile since Dan’s had a drink, and an even longer time since he’s been  _ drunk _ . He’s forgotten, somehow, that it doesn’t take long for alcohol to affect him. Between the one (no, two, he reminds himself) vodka cranberries he had upon coming into the house, the two shots he’d had with Owen, and the wine cooler he was currently sipping, Dan had certainly noticed himself slipping into a bit of a haze.

He was with it enough to be having a good time, but he certainly was in no position to be able to drive himself home, a sort of buzzed, halfway point between sober and completely drunk.

He was absolutely with it, though, enough to note when the door opened and Phil’s 6’3” figure came sauntering through, and just drunk enough to be completely and utterly furious.

He’s quick to stand, splashing some of the drink from his half empty cup onto his jeans in the process. He can’t be bothered to mind the liquid splattered onto his pants as he rushes to try and find Lucy, head swimming all the while.

She’s tucked up in a corner, arm around her girlfriend’s waist, and looks up at him -- she’s doe-eyed and innocent looking, but even in his haze, Dan has a feeling she knew exactly what was happening at this party.

“Lu,” he slurs insistently, gesturing over to the door. It’s an awkward motion, he’s almost jabbing at thin air, but he thinks Lucy must understand. “He’s here.”

She feigns innocence, just says: “Dan, love, there’s plenty of house for the two of you,” and turns back to her girlfriend. Dan sighs under his breath, turning away and figuring he should try and get away from Phil while he could.

All the while, he can hear Owen talking to Phil, who’s acquired a can of beer somewhere along the way. Phil doesn’t seem happy but he definitely doesn’t seem as angry as Dan; he’s almost more sulky.

“I know we didn’t  _ tell  _ you, but if you knew Dan was going to be here, neither of you would have shown,” Owen admits, shrugging. “Look, they’re nowhere near you, anyway.”

Dan shakes his head at that, though he feels half like the room is spinning -- he stalks off to the kitchen where a few of Owen’s other friends are gathered, a glass bottle of something clear perched dangerously close to the edge of the counter.

“Want one?” someone asks, holding out a shot glass in Dan’s direction.

He doesn’t see who it is, but they’ve got painted nails and Dan, despite the alcohol making its way through him, is still pretty upset, so he takes it easily and returns the little glass, quick to ask for another.

He stays a bit, lingers towards the edges of the room -- the person who offered him the shot is called Alison, he learns. She’s got a kind face, leans against the counter with her elbows pressed down for a moment after downing a shot herself. She makes the same sort of twisted face Dan does, though for him each goes easier down the last.

By the time he’s finished in the kitchen, he swears his limbs are made of jell-o, but he feels giggly and pleasant even with the lingering thought of his unwanted guest.

Nobody except for Alison and her partner -- and maybe Lucy’s girlfriend -- seem quite as drunk as Dan does; Phil certainly doesn’t. As far as Dan can tell he’s totally fine, but Phil’s got nine inches on him easy, so it naturally takes more of a toll on the younger of the two.

He finds Lucy again, sees her blue hair somewhere among the crowd (everyone blurs together, but he knows her well enough to find her), and approaches her hastily, leaning into the wall.

“He’s still  _ here _ ,” he says insistently, in what he hopes (but what definitely isn’t) is a quiet voice. “Lu, someone’s gotta…. gotta tell him to go.”

She laughs and he doesn’t understand why, gives her a confused look -- wrinkled brows and all, and shakes his head, deciding to take matters into his own hands.

Phil’s not hard to find, towering above the crowd, but Phil stands easily at six-foot-two, so an incredibly inebriated Dan stumbles across the room, confidence only fueled by no less than seven shots and no less than two and a half vodka cranberries.

“Fucking Phil Lester’s here,” he sneers, leaning against the banister. Music’s playing, booming throughout the first floor of the house, and he can hardly understand what Phil’s saying, but it seems condescending and Dan’s not pleased, to say the least.

“You’re drunk,” Phil observes, one eyebrow raised.

“I’m Dan,” he shoots back, irritated.

“Dan’s drunk,” Phil corrects; smiles, even.

“What’s it  _ matter _ ?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Exactly, it -- it doesn’t,” Dan agrees, stepping back slightly. “So if you didn’t mind shutting your fuckin’-”

Someone’s quick to step in, pulling Dan off to the side. He’s complacent, mostly, but only because he’s too far gone to put up much a fight. He isn’t moved far, either, just a bit closer to a group of people clustered up together. One smiles warmly, offering him a new drink (he shouldn’t take it; deep down he knows this, but he does anyway).

That’s, as it turns out, a mistake. His limit is about halfway through that drink, after which he feels like his skin’s crawling a bit. He shoves the drink into a nearby person’s hand, stumbling off and practically falling onto someone’s chest.

“Bathroom,” he says insistently, eyes closed tight. “I’m --”

The person doesn’t waste a second, grabs and pulls him by the wrist, hard.

“You’re -- you’re too rough!” Dan says angrily, though he allows himself to be directed to the bathroom, half getting into the bowl itself and half getting everywhere else -- trash can, his shirt, his shoes, the person’s shoes,

His head’s spinning, it’s positively spinning as he turns to face the person who brought him into the bathroom in the first place.

Phil. 

Phil, whose shoes have received a lovely coating of vodka and god knows what else, thanks to Dan.

“You’re done for the night,” he says, grimacing.

Dan doesn’t even bother to fight it, just lets himself be guided out of the bathroom and towards the stairs. Owen shoots Phil an apologetic glance but doesn’t rush to help, noting the strong stench of alcohol Dan’s carrying along.

He coaxes the incredibly drunk boy into a guest room, picking up his backpack from the floor. 

“I was gonna sleep here after, since I drank,” he explains, producing a concert t-shirt from the bag. He continues: “so, I would have worn this, but I think you need it more than I do.”

Dan doesn’t struggle or complain the way he might normally, just takes off his shirt and balls it up, throwing it to the side. Phil pulls the shirt over his head, looking down at his shoes and shaking his own head.

“It’s big,” Dan groans, sitting up against the headboard.

“It’s clean,” Phil counters. “It’s just like, a concert shirt. From Muse.”

“Muse?”

“Yes, Muse. If you’d rather wear your own shirt, you can. But considering it’s covered-”

“I  _ know that _ ,” says Dan, rolling his eyes. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Like?” Phil asks, incredulous.

“Like, nice,” Dan says. His brows furrow, almost angry but not quite.

“You’re drunk.”

“We’ve established that,” Dan says, looking at Phil almost accusatory. “Now are you… Are you going downstairs or what?”

Phil shakes his head, declines the question. He’s half afraid Dan’s going to get sick and half afraid he’s going to try and come back downstairs, neither of which are the ideal situations.

“Maybe try and sleep,” Phil coaxes, still standing.

“I’m not a child -- I’m seventeen,” Dan counters.

“I know. You’re a big boy,” Phil chuckles, mostly light hearted.

“As a matter of fact,  _ asshole _ , I’m not.”

Phil doesn’t look half impressed.

“I’m…” he trails off, half lost by the thought, “I’m nonbinary.”

“I know you are. Get some sleep.”

Dan’s far less coherent than normal, mainly thanks to the many drinks he’d had that night, but he’s still with it enough to think about what Phil said. 

He knew. He didn’t question it, didn’t try to tell Dan otherwise, didn’t try to tell him it was fake. He knew, and he accepted, which is much more than Dan could say for his mum, at least.

* * *

 

He’s never drinking again.

That’s not true; he’ll drink plenty more again, but he swears, as he wakes up the next morning, he’s never drinking again.

He’s death warmed over, there’s no convincing him (or anyone) otherwise; his throat’s dry and he reaches for a stale cup of water off the night table, gulping it down like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. His head pounds and his feet drag as he forces himself out of bed.

His appearance - god, if he thought he felt bad, he looked even worse. He reeks, absolutely reeks of spilled vodka, and an unfamiliar looking t-shirt hangs over his shoulders. 

If he forces himself to, he can sort of recall last night as a vague memory, of countless shots and of getting sick and of…. Phil taking care of him.

He shudders at that last thing, recalling Phil gingerly handing him the shirt. So it’s Phil’s, then. Phil’s shirt on his body.

Jesus, he needs to go home.

He stalks down the hallway, silence pounding in his skull. He passes Owen’s room, where he and Knox are passed out in bed, each the opposite end. Lucy and her girlfriend sleep in the next room over - Owen’s sister’s - in each other’s arms, and Phil’s taking up the futon in the room where Dan woke up.

He’s sure more people are downstairs, but he doesn’t care to look and he certainly doesn’t care to wake them up, ever so delicately sneaks through the glass back door. It creaks and groans, and someone stirs in the lounge, groaning as well, but Dan’s half out and can’t be bothered to check, anyway.

The fresh air does him some good; his jeans are worn a day too long and Phil’s shirt hangs off of his tiny frame, but he breathes in so quick and deep it’s almost painful, pulls his phone out of his pocket, and checks on the battery life.

Five percent. He stuffs it back into his pocket, a yellow post-it falling off and into the dewy grass. It’s wet and Dan grimaces at that, noting the messy scrawl on.

‘ _ let me know if you get home safe. phil.’ _

Dan can make out a phone number on the bottom, written more carefully than the note.

He’s confused at best but shoves it back alongside his phone, willing himself to check on it later. For now, he’s got home to get to, three quarters of a kilometer away (it feels like light years when Dan’s in his current state, but it isn’t, really.)

He slips into the back door of his house and his phone beeps to alert him that it’s dying which, thanks, he knows perfectly well. He can’t be bothered to plug it in, can’t be bothered to do much else besides flop down on the couch, using the last bit of his phone’s battery to enter Phil’s number.

His hands shake slightly as he types the number into his phone, though he tells himself that’s normal -- it must be. It’s especially uneasy for Phil to be so kind to him after the way they’ve treated each other, but Dan’s got other concerns to address; namely, the splitting headache he’s currently nursing.

* * *

**** That day drags, mostly grey and very unassuming, into the next, where Dan’s headache has receded and where he’s starting to feel normal again, despite a strange nervousness in the pit of his stomach. It’s unfounded, he tells himself. There’s nothing wrong.

It’s only noon the next day when he thinks to plug his phone into the charger, and when the texts start to come through.

 

**from: phil lester**

hey, it’s phil

 

**from: phil lester**

you home safe?

 

**from: lu ^_^**

dan, are you safe? nobody can find you

 

**from: lu ^_^**

oh, i called your mum. she says you’re resting

 

**from: knox**

is it true you snogged phil?

 

**from: nora**

you did not!! 

 

**from: nora**

you’ve chosen an awfully inconvenient time to be silent, dan!

 

Dan shakes his head, hardly thinking as he assures Phil and Lucy things are fine, rushing to text back his other two friends that he decidedly did  _ not  _ kiss Phil. There was no issue with Phil helping him out in the state he was in, though he could mostly assume Phil had nipped that one in the bud.

He nearly sets his phone down, pausing for a second as he looks down. He’s still wearing Phil’s Muse shirt, and as comfortable as he is, it’d be awfully rude of him to keep it. He quickly types:

**to: phil lester**

i can bring your shirt to school. or you can get it. just let me know.

The response is almost immediate.

**from: phil lester**

i can come get it if that’s okay

 

Dan lets out a deep breath, half tempted to say that he wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t alright, but quickly thinks of how kind Phil had been to him and decides to text his address instead, groaning internally when he realizes this means making himself presentable.

He settles on joggers and one of his younger brother’s shirts -- he’s around at a friend’s anyway, so Dan doubts he’ll mind. He could, in theory, tame his hair, but decides to leave it be. He straightens it for school enough, so giving it a break on the weekends is probably good for it.

He’s got his toothbrush in his mouth when the doorbell rings, prompting him to say a soft “fuck,” and spit out what’s left, heading down to the door. It’s snowing, something he hadn’t even realized until seeing Phil’s jacket-clad figure in his actual doorway.

He pauses for a second, as if he can’t remember quite why Phil’s there, before something inside of him reminds him. He says, “oh, right. Shirt. Uh, it’s upstairs. You can… You can come in, if you’d like?” 

“Right, thanks.” Phil’s hand rests at the back of his neck and he leans against the doorframe.

“You should close it,” Dan points out, disappearing up the stairs. 

He quickly produces the shirt, heads down the stairs, and holds it out to Phil, mouth pulled into a tight line. “‘M gonna try to get some more sleep,” he explains, a bit uncomfortable. He’s still got the remnants of a headache and his mouth is so dry he feels like he might just  _ die _ .

“I’ll see you around.”

“Right.”

He collapses back onto the couch with a groan, one arm thrown over his eye to block out the morning sunshine, and settles into what feels like the best sleep he’s had in years. It isn’t; his couch is uncomfortable and his position is sure to have him quite sore when he wakes, but he sleeps like he’s never before.

* * *

 

Dan’s grin stretches bright across his face. Five of them, Phil included, have grouped up by the large oak tree on campus, discussing what felt like everything under the sun, really.

Phil’s wearing his shirt, the same he’d given Dan when the younger boy had gotten sick. Dan admits with a slight grudge that it  _ does  _ look good. Phil’s broad shoulders fill it out well, and it spans his flat chest. It looks better on him than it did on Dan, though that’s to be expected.

“I guess you washed it then,” he teases. He doesn’t think he’d call them friends just yet, but it’s like the promise of it is near-- he doesn’t know if he wants that. 

“I did,” Phil confirms. “It’s my favorite shirt, my favorite band, so.”

“I noticed you like Muse,” Dan says. The sun’s in his eyes, but he doesn’t really mind. Phil smiles brightly, looks down at his shirt, and nods after a moment. He adds: “I do, too.”

It’s like something gives within Phil. He leans forward into Dan, like they’re the only two people here. Dan swears that their friends exchange glances. Someone says “told you so!”, but it doesn’t  _ matter _ . 

“What’s your favorite album?” asks Dan.

“Origin of Symmetry.” He can see Phil’s smile grow. It’s his, too.

The conversation dies shortly thereafter, but as Dan walks to class, he feels warm. His backpack doesn’t hang so heavy off of him and he seems to understand what his teacher is droning on about slightly more than usual. It’s oddly pleasant, though he’s not quite sure what the cause might be.

* * *

 

The spot under the oak tree that Dan likes to sit at during lunch feels a bit brighter, a bit more airy, somehow. He and his friends tend to gather in the courtyard during their free times, in groups of anywhere from three to five, generally, depending on who’s around.

It’s Lucy today, accompanied by Knox and Phil, and Dan’s having a hard time finding fault with Phil. (Not that he tries, or that he’ll  _ admit  _ he tries. But, hypothetically, if he  _ was  _ trying to find fault, it’d be hard.

“Think we’re getting back our grades for Boyer’s partner projects today,” Lucy says, cutting herself off to yawn into her sleeve. Her knees are tucked up to her chest, exposed by the rips in her jeans, and she looks over the red frames of her glasses at Dan, raising one eyebrow. “How do you guys think you did?” she asks.

“Pretty well,” Phil says, just as Dan begins to say “I’m not feeling too confident.”

The two exchange a look, corners of Phil’s eyes crinkled and Dan’s own eyes slightly narrowed.

“I did a lot of it late.” Dan doesn’t elaborate on exactly why this happened, but he’ll be surprised if they do any better than a B, even with Phil’s help the day before it was due.

“I barely touched that project,” Knox joins the conversation. “But my partner was like, a genius or something, so we got a 94.” He squints in the sunlight before going back to the book his head’s buried in. He’s generally quiet in their groups, but when they’re together one on one, he’s one of Dan’s favorite people to be around.

“It’ll be interesting to see!” Lucy chimes in. 

Dan thinks she’s definitely right; he doesn’t want to get his hopes up for a good grade, because even if he isn’t exactly hurting when it comes to his marks, doing well on this project definitely won’t do him harm.

“Hope we did well,” he says mostly to Phil, who nods in acknowledgement.

“Think we did,” he offers, shrugging.

The response dies on Dan’s lips when the bell sounds, prompting the four teenagers to get up and head to their respective classes; Dan and Phil to English, Lucy to her art class, and Knox to his math class.

His stride matches Phil’s, Dan notices, and he pauses for a moment for no reason other than getting them  _ out  _ of sync. He scrunches his nose when he realizes they’ve fallen back into sync by the time they get to class. It’s such a small detail, he thinks, but it’s one he doesn’t quite think he likes.

They approach their seats, opposite sides of the classroom, and Dan lets himself look off at a particularly interesting tile on the floor, scuffed and chipped at the one corner, but infinitely more interesting than the sudden pink creeping on his cheeks.

“We’re going to pass back the “To Kill a Mockingbird” project assessments,” his teacher says, standing from her desk with a manilla folder in hand. “I’ll call both names, but only one needs to come get it. After they’re all passed back, you can group up and see your grade, and if there are any concerns, we’ll go over those after.”

Dan yawns, eyes traveling back to the same floor tile.

“Fitzpatrick and Brooks,” she begins. Dan tunes her out.

“Boone and Molloy,” she says a few moments later. Then, “Howell and Lester.”

Phil stands, so Dan doesn’t bother. What  _ does  _ bother him is that he can’t tell anything from Phil’s expression. He looks at the paper, but doesn’t look happy, sad, or surprised. Like, he’s compartmentalized his feelings into… Nothing.

It’s infuriating.

After she says, “Webster and Marshall,” everyone disperses to find their partners. Dan doesn’t move, so Phil finds him and sets the paper on the tan desk in front of him, leans against it.

Dan hums a small acknowledgement and flips the paper.

“You’re joking,” he says. Suddenly, he understands why Phil didn’t show any emotion. He was probably  _ shocked _ .

“We did it!” Phil grins, exposing crooked teeth.

“We?” Dan raises an eyebrow.

“Okay. You, mostly,” Phil revises.

“A ninety four,” Dan says, shaking his head. If he wasn’t holding the paper, he definitely wouldn’t believe it. But it’s there, in purple pen: 94% and ‘great job!!’ in Ms. Boyer’s careful handwriting. He doesn’t believe it.

“All thanks to my last minute all nighter,” Phil teases. Dan almost,  _ almost  _ finds it endearing. Not quite, but… Almost.

He says, “asshole,” under his breath, but the smirk and the blush creeping further on his cheeks expose the fact that he definitely doesn’t think Phil is an asshole. Or, he doesn’t think Phil is as much of an asshole as he previously did that.

It’s the latter, he thinks, and he’s okay with that.

* * *

 

It’s all a bit cliche; Nora’s on her bed, lying upside down, and Dan’s sat in a bean bag chair stuffed up in the corner. Their talks, their moments like this, Dan thinks they’re almost therapeutic. Nora has a way with words, but she does her fair share of teasing, never one to pass up a chance to fluster Dan.

“So,” she begins, forcing herself to sit up, “how’d you do on the partner project?”

He grins, says “a 94,” and sort of relishes in her slight jaw drop.

Nora seems a bit awed, really, and she shakes her head. “The highest I heard was 86. Boyer is  _ hard _ .”

“Guess we- ehh, I,” Dan chuckles, “did a good job, then.”

She nods, though she doesn’t meet his eye because she’s occupied herself with tying up her hair, though once it’s up, her face brightens as if she’s had a brilliant idea.

Nora says: “she could have paired you two up on purpose!”

Dan’s quick to brush off the idea, but she’s persistent.

“Come  _ on _ ,” she laughs. “It’s too perfect. Enemies in the  _ same class.  _ Partners. The highest grade in the class.”

He’s unconvinced.

“That was intentional,” she reiterates. “Boyer paired you and Phil up on purpose. You know it, and so do I. She wanted you guys to do well!”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It isn’t.”

“It is.”

“ _ Dan _ .”

The younger boy huffs, crossing thin arms over his chest. “She didn’t do it on purpose,” he says, definite. He can tell Nora doesn’t believe him, exactly, but he’s certain. For all the traits that describe their English teacher, scheming isn’t one. Neither, he thinks, is meddling, which is scary close to what Nora’s up to.

When she opens her mouth again, Dan quickly covers his ears, though he can’t stop the single quiet laugh he lets out. He’s never been one to wear his emotions anywhere other than his sleeve, and when Nora shoots him an accusatory glance he can only grin and remove his hands from his ears.

It’s a funny coincidence, he thinks, but not more than that, despite what she thinks.

* * *

 

Dan will admit, albeit  _ very  _ grudgingly, that maybe he doesn’t quite dislike Phil. Maybe Phil’s not constantly out to get him. Maybe.

He isn’t convinced, exactly, and the sly grin Phil wears isn’t doing a good job of convincing him. It’d been a bit suspicious from the beginning; Phil had come up to see him, leaned up against the locker next to his while Dan got his books, and when the brown haired boy got everything together, he was  _ still  _ waiting with this expression like he knew more than Dan, somehow. Like something was up.

Dan half expects some snide remark, a regression to their prior state, but Phil doesn’t do that. He actually  _ smiles  _ a closed-lipped smile at Dan and asks, “do you have anything to do after school?”

Dan gapes. He and Phil have been involved in mutual plans before, where someone had invited both of them (like the party, he thinks with a grimace), but neither of them have ever gone out of their way to make plans by their own free will.

“I am,” Dan says, nodding. “I have  _ very  _ interesting things to do. I could watch paint dry. I could work on math homework. I could get a cavity filled.”

Phil pieces it together with a grin. “So you’re not.”

Feigning hurt, Dan says, “I just informed you of  _ three  _ distinct plans. What wasn’t clear about that?” He relents a moment later, closing his locker and turning to Phil. “I’m free,” he admits. As if Phil didn’t know that. “Why do you ask?”

Phil hesitates, Dan notes, as if he wasn’t expecting that answer, but he’s quick to compartmentalize and repress any trace of emotion. “I was wondering if you… Wanted to get food?” 

It comes as more of a question than anything, and while Dan’s half tempted to say he’d rather go get run over by no less than six trucks, something inside of him says this is going to be a good idea.

So, he nods. Against his better judgement, he slings his bag over his shoulder and follows Phil out the doors and to the older one’s car, settling himself in the passenger seat.

“Burgers okay?” Phil asks.

“S’okay.”

And that’s that. They ride not in silence, but they don’t  _ talk.  _ Rather, Phil’s radio plays something Dan can’t place his finger on and the two open windows provide the sounds of the wind. It’s nice, Dan thinks, though he isn’t quite willing to say that.

They drive past trees, past their classmates, into town. And Dan’s not quite sure where they’re headed, but he doesn’t dare ask. First, he doubts Phil will tell him. Second, he’d like to try and  _ guess  _ ahead of time, so asking won’t be any good, anyway.

The location gives nothing away. It’s just a bit outside of the city, and while Dan’s been around here a few times, it isn’t really significant. Maybe there’s no significance to it; maybe Phil just wanted to make up or  _ something _ , but Dan doesn’t really think that’s the case.

Trees dot the streets of London, a lattice against the backdrop of the sun beginning to set, and Dan feels warm, so warm, as he steps out of the car and onto the street.

“So, it’s just a block away,” Phil explains, gesturing in front of himself.

Dan follows suit, and true to his word, they approach a small restaurant just a block later, nestled between a cafe and a block of flats.

Dan remembers, remembers when they came with their group of friends a few months ago, remembers Phil intentionally spilling his milkshake on Dan’s lap.

“Hilarious,” he quips, quick to cross his arms.

Phil shakes his head, says: “no, actually,” and opens the door for an increasingly suspicious Dan.

He’s not entirely sure it isn’t a trick; maybe Phil will spill on him again or  _ something _ , but he steps forward anyway, reaches for the wallet in his back pocket, quickly producing it.

Phil pushes his hand away and turns towards him. “You got a strawberry milkshake last time, yeah?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Didn’t you?”

“I- Yeah, but-” the thought dies on Dan’s lips and he shakes his head instead, wondering exactly what the point of that question is.

He finds out a moment later, when Phil orders him a new one and an order of fries, explains that “I heard someone owed you a milkshake a few months ago, so.”

Dan scoffs, but it’s a nice gesture all the same. And the fact that Phil remembered his order, paid for a new one, it’s even  _ nicer _ .

He takes the milkshake from the window, turns towards Phil, and sits opposite him at a table in the window, smiling.

Sunlight’s quickly fading, though golden light still floods through the window they’re behind, and Dan doesn’t want to admit that Phil looks good, but he  _ does _ . 

“It tastes better the second time,” he says, lip forming a small smile. 

“Better than in your lap?” Phil teases back, showing his own smile.

“Definitely.”

And yes, the milkshake is sweet, Dan thinks, but the gesture was sweeter. It feels a bit strange for Phil to be here, for Phil to be so kind towards him, but he doesn’t say anything, just looks down at his lap, ignores the pink creeping on his cheeks.

“Your cheeks are the same pink as your milkshake,” Phil remarks.

“Shut up.” There’s nothing behind it, but Dan curls a bit in on himself, deciding that he’s done with the milkshake.

“We should get going,” he says, suddenly feeling warm despite the chill in the air.

And they go, go past the shops and past the trees, go towards Phil’s little blue car, go towards the dusky sky, and when they arrive on the passenger side, there’s a moment of  _ nothing _ , of Dan opening his mouth but nothing coming out.

And the activity on the street is nothing to him, the people don’t exist. All that it is is Phil and  _ Phil  _ leans in and Dan meets him halfway and his world…

His world electrifies, and a hand rests on the small of Dan’s back, and he’s not even eighteen but he  _ knows  _ that this kiss is something special, something good and right and real.

And as he breaks away, he can’t help but tease, “I like you better when you’re quiet like that.”

Phil silences him with another.

 

**Author's Note:**

> hello thanks so much for reading!!  
> comments and kudos keep me going;;  
> this is actually sort of my last hurrah writing about dan and phil. i'm so glad that so many of you have enjoyed what i've written over the past few years, and i thought that nothing would be more appropriate than to finish out the era of writing about these two with a fic that i really truly did enjoy writing.  
> i do write for other fandoms, now, and if you feel so inclined to check those out, please do let me know what you think <3


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